Frozen Quivers
by 3.14rate
Summary: A re-imagining of when Oliver fell after his duel with the Demon's head. A tale, a little "what if", of when the daughter of Ra's Ah Ghul stumbled across a dying Arrow at the cliff's edge and decided to save him instead. A story, of entwining fate between the Emerald Archer, and the demon's heir.
1. Chapter 1

A/n: A little re-imagining of when Oliver fell at the end of the Arrow's third season. A tale, a little "what if", of when the daughter of Ra's Ah Ghul stumbled across a dying Arrow and decided to save him.

I wrote this mostly because I was inspired by the potential those two could bring, also because I can't really find any other stories involving the two.

This story follows the TV universe, except without the romance between him and Felicity.

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><p><strong>Chapter : 1<strong>

Dark, with a shade of niveous white. He blinked, his eyelids fluttering futilely against falling flakes of snow, the coldness seemed nothing but a fading afterthought, distant, an echo. The snow blanketed him from all sides, an icy embrace. He gasped, as a chilled gust swept across his battered form, his hand quickly moving to shield his eyes from the falling snow.

He felt something wet brushed across his cheeks, leaving the sticky fluid across his face, he looked at his hand - one that was stained crimson, from fingertip to palm. His eyes darted to his surroundings, only whitened treetops greeted him. He could not move, his body felt detached, broken.

_"Forgive and have mercy upon him..."_

He grunted, his body screaming in defiance, his face contorting in pain as memories shot through his pain ridden skull like insistent stars upon darkened night skies.

_It took but a second for his conscious mind to quickly articulate the factors that his unconscious had instantly, wordlessly spotted and assessed. A most important skill that had taken him years to master, one that had kept him alive for so long. It was not as easy as he told Barry, for him it was not just about knowing his surroundings. But how they affected him, how something would disadvantage him, how he could turn it into his advantage, hidden assailants, escape routes. A dozen other thoughts._

_"... excuse him and pardon him, make honorable his reception..."  
><em>  
><em>Yet as well as he knew of his surroundings, his opponent moved in such a fashion he could not match. Not only was Ra's Al Ghul able to block the younger man's much stronger blows, but with speed and accuracy unlike any the Arrow had seen, Mirakuru including. He was so outclassed, it was not a fair fight by any definition.<br>_

_His arms felt heavier with each blow, yet the other man barely broke a sweat, the blade felt big, clumsy, unrefined in his, yet it moved fluidly in the other's grip, like a part of the man's own arm._

_"...protect him from the punishment of the grave..."_

_It was not long before he fell like the fool that he was, defeated as forged steel tore into his naked chest, penetrating flesh and sinew without effort, a mouthful of blood as the reddened liquid gushed outwards from the gaping wound._

_And then weightlessness, as the cliff's wall rose while he fell.  
><em>

_"... and the torment of the fire."  
><em>  
>And fire he felt, his screams echoing as black feathers flew in response, crows squawking riotously from nearby trees, sent flying from his agonizing cries. He looked downwards, an intense torrent originating from where he was struck, one that quickly expanded outwards, an unquenchable flame that rapidly engulfed his entire form.<p>

His body muscles tightened in response to the pain, his breathing coming in rigorous strides as his fingers dug into the snow around him, a clump of ice quickly thrown over his wound, it did little to alleviate his misery. He was choking, his lungs no longer seemed to normally work.

He coughed harder, each expelling a little bit more of blood into the air, and at last it became easier to breath, albeit somewhat raggedly. He laid still for a long time, trying to regain his balance, to compose his body. Still, he could not move. Something was broken, he had to find out what.

He tried to lift himself up, only to fall awkwardly onto his right arm, realizing that his left had not moved the entire time. Looking to his side, he saw his own elbow twisted at an extreme angle, the sharp edge of what seemed to be bone protruding out of his bloodied arm. The entire limb was blue-ish pale from his shoulders down, most likely due to the effects of onsetting frostbite.

The mind it seemed, worked in mysterious ways. And like how his memory invoked pain from where the blade pierced flesh, it was then... his body noticed his broken arm.

The agony, indescribably more than anything he had ever felt, as darkness quickly consumed him.

_It's been 67 years since someone challenged me_  
><em>Heir to the demon.<em>  
><em>Oliver...<em>  
><em>Choose...<em>  
><em>Oliver!<em>  
><em>Oliver!<em>  
><em>Do you covet death so much?<em>

He burst free from within suffocating sheets, his hands grasping for an unseen assailant even before he knew he had fully awaken. Cold metal brushed across his ribs, he convulsed in horror, only to realize his entire left arm was coated in armor, of metallic origin, in a shade of dull silver.

His could feel his heart wildly thumping as he tore at the edge of the armor, yet as hard as he pulled, they could not be removed. He could see where the edge of his shoulders ended and where the metal begin, he could see the scarred flesh, feared as he remembered the way his arm had looked after he fell, the mangled flesh, the protruding bones.

He could not move the metallic fingers, and he dared not imagine what laid underneath. He removed the sheets that covered him, noticing the bandages that were surgically wrapped around his lower chest, a dampened pinkish spot where his frantic actions resulted in the reopening of his wound.

The man was in a hut of sorts, in a condition as dismal as he was. Dark and dusty with the existence of a boarded shut nearby window, neither chair nor table were in sight. The curtains once white, now stood grey and torn, as lifeless as everything else was.

Then, a soft crack, as the doors started to swing inwards.

**End  
><strong>

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><p>Do leave a review if you enjoy (;<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter : 2**

"You are awake."

A voice accompanied the raging snow from outside the tiny hut, turbulent winds forced against the opened door like wrathful demons. The entrance was quickly pulled shut, effectively shielding them from the outside nature.

"You seemed to have forgotten who it was that saved your life," her voice was non-threatening as her eyes fixed onto his uninjured arm, but an air of ambivalence was clearly held between them both.

"Where am I?" He demanded as his grip tightened around the nail he hastily dug from one of the wooden boards behind him, an impractical, ineffectual weapon. But still a weapon nonetheless.

"Somewhere that is..." She paused as she started to remove the winter hood that was wrapped around her face, freeing a headful of darkened locks as tufts of her hair mopped against her forehead, "safe."

The man's posture somewhat relaxed in response, but tension and unease still clouded him. The nailed tapped lightly against the wall, "are we..." he closed his eyes for a moment, "still in Nanda Parbat?" He did not require an answer, it was rhetorical, no where else on Earth existed a place with such hellish glacial winds.

"Why?" He asked, "why save me?"

_A miracle, she believed so. He was barely alive, no, more dead than alive. She watched as his chest weakly rose, a feeble effort that seemed barely noticeable. It was desperate, yet for some reason, his body held on. It took a brief second for her to access his situation, the man was critically injured without a doubt. If she were to leave him, he would surely die._

_His wounds, the temperature, the wolves, he stood no chance. The ice was somewhat of a blessing, it prevented the excess loss of blood coming from the wound her father inflicted upon him, but the man's left arm was already gone, unsalvageable. Not only was it brutally twisted from the elbow down, but the entire thing was already in a darkened shade of blue due to the frostbite._

_She did not hesitate, her blade coming down in a clean sweep, there was barely any blood._

_She cut a piece of the cloak she wore, making a tourniquet for the man before tenderly lifting him into a sort of makeshift sled that she had brought along. Dusk had already came by, the nights were even more so dangerous than an assassin's blade. She started to pull, the ropes tore into her gloves, her hands bled. But they survived._

She looked away, his question hung unanswered between them both, a moment of uneasy silence. Her imagination of how their conversation would go when he regained consciousness seemed quite different from what was expected, she preferred him unconscious, like the way he was for the entirety of the previous month.

Or at least the second half of that month. Unlike the very start when he was plagued with constant fever, when he slipped in and out of a delirious state due to the on-setting infection of his wounds. It could have been easily prevented with basic or simple medical supplies, but those were not found in this secluded part of the world.

Instead, she depended on a ton of different herbs that grew naturally on this side of the mountains.

He did not know of the things she had done, he thought of himself as a prisoner, or perhaps a sort of future motive of theirs. She did not blame him, yet the demon's heir knew not of how to explain their predicament.

"What else does Ra's Al Ghul want from me," his voice freed her from her thoughts, straining as he tried to get up onto his feet, "what is -"

"Ra's Al Ghul thinks you're dead." She interrupted as she turned towards him, her gaze rising in his direction as her face contorted into one of hatred, "they all think you're dead."

"I found you barely alive at the cliff's edge. I told him you were dead."

He did not speak, though with a thousand more questions that hung between them, one thing was very much clear. She saved him. "Thank you."

"My arm," he asked as he lifted it from beneath the dusty sheets, the dull metal felt heavy and clumsy, the image of his broken arm before he lost consciousness still burned brightly in his mind, "I assume that it was... too late?"

She nodded, she knew that it would not be easy for him, even more so being that he might never fire an arrow again. It worried her, the things he might do in such a state, she knew of his stubbornness, a common trait in most men she had dealt with before, some more prominent than others.

"You have the village doctor to thank for that contraption. He works as a blacksmith as well, thus the design. A very talented old man. He helped with most of your wounds while I was trying to get the proper medicinal herbs from the village's garden. Not an easy task considering most of them were withered frozen."

"It was made from the ores mined near the springs beneath Nanda Parbat, a small cavern lake, said to hold magical healing properties."

He studied the glove-like object, it fit him like an actual arm, though a little bulkier. His rational mind dismissed the object's healing potential, but with what he had seen in the past few years, coupled with a recently amputated arm's lack of discomfort and pain, he felt a little swayed in his beliefs.

"Garden? Village? Doctor? What?" He was more than a little confused to say the least, every passing second plagued more questions than before. More than one could ask.

"The village?" She repeated as a matter-of-factly, "yes we do have a functioning village, with young and old. Did you honestly think that Nanda Parbat was a place where assassins lived on mountaintops?"

His chuckle startled her, it was... unexpected. "That was exactly what I thought."

She approached him, noticing the new stain that covered the front of his bandages, "we need to change your wrappings," she muttered as she reached for the bags that she brought with her, "getting them infected again would not be the best of ideas."

She sat on the edge of his bed, her body barely making a dent on the cushion, a fresh roll of bandages and a flask of what seemed to be ointment in her hands, "I will help you. You will only embarrass yourself with one arm."

Harsh, but not something he disagreed with, brushing the cushions aside, he positioned himself beside her, giving her an easier approach and angle. He shivered as her fingers brushed against his skin, she was gentle and with care, the cool ointment quickly glossed over his newest scar, as meticulous yet as light as one possibly could.

She leaned closer as the bandages started to cover his ribs, each layer tenderly over the previous. He could feel her warm breath against his naked skin, he had never thought of her as a woman till then, more of a crazy murderous assassin more than anything else. The proximity between them both was too close for his comfort, he looked away, though she did not seemed to have even noticed, nor minded the uneasy silence at all.

"A month," she replied afterwards when he asked, "you were out for a full month."

That astounded him, it was a lot longer than he thought, especially on the note of him leaving Starling to face Ra's Al Ghul, even his own team must have thought that he was dead. "I need to get back." His voice was shaky, filled with worry, "they need me. I need to go back to Starling."

"Did you lose your brain as well, Queen?" She motioned towards the outside world, "look around you, we're on one of the highest points of the Tibetan mountains, enduring one of the coldest winters in a thousand years."

"You will not survive a day, much less the month's trek across such terrains to the next closest inhabited village."

"Then what do I do? What did you save me for Nyssa? So that I can wait and die cold and alone in this godforsaken mountain?"

"No, Oliver." She whispered as her fingers dug into the sheets beneath them, twisting it into her palm, "you heal up, you train, you become stronger."

"And then, we'll kill Ra's Al Ghul together."

**END**

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><p>Do leave a review if you enjoy, they inspire me to write more.<p>

Themaster: Have I claimed your attention now?

Devoregirl: Thank you for the kind words.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: If anyone would like to beta for me, do drop me a pm (;

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><p><strong>Chapter : 3<br>**  
>He had considered every possible way out of this icy terrain, but he ultimately knew that her logic was unflawed. He had no other choice than to stay and sit the winter out, he was trapped, stuck on the side of a mountain. It would be suicide to try and attempt a trek to the next closest inhabited city, especially with these odds so stacked against him. He considered other options, every variety of possible escape, but there were none. He'll have to survive winter.<p>

His time on the island helped little, the climate was vastly different, he was not forced into a tiny enclave on the former, he had full control of both his arms too. But unlike surviving the island, she helped.

She brought him the necessities, from food to a daily change of old tattered robes that smelt of both blood and dust, but he wasn't complaining. He knew of the dangers outside, of not just the weather but the risk of being seen. Sometimes, he lost track of time, could no longer tell the difference between day or night, the only constant in this tiny hut was the persistent hail of wind against the tiny building and the pelting of snow against its roof.

So he trained, from days that quickly turned into weeks. He had to not only maintain his strength, but to find balance between his two different arms, it still felt weird, detached, unnatural. But he was getting the hang of it. He needed more than anything else to prepare, for the inevitable fight that he would soon enough face... when winter ends.

_The tattooed man felt neither her presence nor suspected a single thing, an unsurprising fact due to the years she had trained to mask her own aura. She knew she had to stay close, a gun was too loud, would draw too much attention. She needed something small, something that could be used at close range, a knife would be perfect, one laced with the deadliest of poisons._

_The man's movement suddenly sped up, his palm slipping upwards into his jacket, a movement performed so quickly she almost missed the blade that appeared. Her heart thudded like a war drum, somehow he knew. He turned right into a likely deserted alleyway, she followed, her grip tightening so hard on the blade her knuckles bore white._

_Darkness engulfed her as she walked through the confined space, there barely was a warning, the rustling of rats as an arm shot forth from within the enclosed darkness. She dropped, quickly to her knees as her training took over her instinct, feeling a brush of wind as his blade sliced through where her head was moments ago. She reacted instantly, dropping her shoulders, making her body a smaller, harder target as she drove herself into the side of his ribs._

_With her attack sending the man out of balance, she used their momentum to drive her elbow into his exposed chest, sending him stumbling backwards, staggering as he wheezed in pain, she gave him no time to catch his breath, a single pivot and she flew in his direction. They both tumbled across the ground, her own weapon brandished in her palm, the blade's sharpened end pressed against the man's throat moments later._

_He tried to stop her, but the blade was already drawing blood and with that, the poison would soon take hold. She pulled deeper, the man grew desperate. An arm shot towards the side of her skull, sending her head snapping to the side, she lost her grip, allowing him to grasp blindly for yet another hidden blade, this time an unavoidable one._

_She barely screamed as she felt the blade pierce through her palm, her voice muffled by training, yet the pain persisted brilliantly. Her own blood trailed down her palm, mixing with the red from his neck wound, but still she held on.  
><em>  
><em>Another blade, into the side of her ribs. Her armor was thick, but still he drew blood. She grunted, but regained her grapple. Her legs, as flexible as a gymnast with years of training, quickly wrapped around the man, pinning his arms to the ground as more pressure was applied to his neck.<em>

_The man's struggle grew weak, he seemed to have ran out blades, his left hand still tried to peel hers away from him but his mobility was gone, she had him where she wanted him. She pulled, he gurgled in response, blood pouring uninterrupted from his wound. He tried to clasp onto his neck, to stem the flow of blood, but she gave him no reprieve._

_She held on, even as the body eventually stopped shuddering, even after lifeless eyes looked up in her direction. She was battered, bloodied. She trembled, her first kill, the first of many._

She jerked awake, the familiar setting greeting her as she slipped back into consciousness. She must have fallen asleep. Her fingers were unconsciously prodding against the knife wound at the back of her palm, it felt almost a century ago. She blink, her eyes adjusting to the dimmed room before noticing him, Oliver queen, upside down in the other corner. She blinked again, her eyes were not playing tricks.

His head dipped downwards as he leaned back against the wall, balancing only on a single uninjured hand as he performed handstand push ups. She watched, fascinated by his routine. He tilted slightly, no longer using the wall, freestanding as he dropped down, holding for a moment before pushing himself back up, she did not know how many he had done before she started watching, but she soon counted another hundred before he propped himself back up onto his feet.

She noticed a sort of intensity sewn deep in his eyes, something that one would not notice hidden in a man like him. And she had to admit it was a quality that intrigued her, slightly attracted her. Many nights she laid awake wondering, if she had made the right choice in saving this man, but she knew that for her plans to come true, there was none she could count on more than him.

"Come," she said as she tossed another pile of darkened robes in his direction, "put it on. We're heading out."

"My father is out on a mission with half of his men, we'll be heading into the village for supplies. There will still be guards, so be ever vigilant... and stay out of sight.

**End.**

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><p>Do leave a review if you enjoyed! (;<p> 


	4. Chapter 4

_Thank you for all the reviews, they inspire me to write more (;  
><em>

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><p><strong>Chapter : 4<strong>

Coldness.

It lashed away at any exposed part of his body, frigid wind blowing painfully against his hooded form, he could barely see against the raging tide, the relentless winds reducing visibility to nothingless. It felt as though he just stepped through the gates of a frozen hell. He could neither tell up nor down, the sky indistinguishable from the ground, just a dizzying vortex of white.

Tiny specks of crystalline ice were hurled at him, peppering him with chills below negative degrees, he grasped blindly at the air in front of him, he could no longer even see where he came from, the hut a lost memory. He spun, an arm pressed slightly above his eyes, trying to shield himself from the snow, but it was to no avail, at embarrassing attempt, useless as he continued to be assaulted from all ends.

He staggered, his feet stumbling through inches of deep snow; he struggled to regain his balance, trying to find a firm grip when his foot suddenly came up empty. Nothing met his falling soles, neither ground nor snow. One thing quickly registered at the back of his mind, the mountain's edge.

His arms swung wildly, trying to hold on to something, anything. But nothing was there. Nothing but the snow.

A sharp intake of breath, his body tensed as he was suddenly stilled, held firmly by an outstretched arm that gripped onto the back of his cloak at the very last moment, helping him balance on the sharp fall. He felt himself being pulled away from the unseen drop, by hands as firm and steady as someone that had navigated this very mountain side for decades.

They stood still for a moment, his eyes quickly adjusting to the winds around them, allowing him to peek over where he almost fell, a crevice that seemed to lead to the bottom of the world.

He could not see her, only felt her hand in his as she guided them away, in the direction of the village spoke of. He shouted, asking her if she knew where she was going, if she remembered the path in such weather. She could not hear him over the raging winds. Neither could he see where they were headed towards, but were he in front of her, he would have noticed her eyes being closed the entire way, guided by something stronger than even eyes could see.

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><p>Out of the cold, and into the darkness. Echoes rang out with each footstep as they entered an enclosed area, leaving the howling winds behind. They were in a cave of some sort, without even the slightest hint of a light source, with zero luminosity; the entirety of it was shrouded in darkness.<p>

"Follow me," her voice was barely above a whisper, her fingers brushed against his before she took him in her own, entwined as they headed away from the storm. For almost an hour they walked in the darkness, the place was eerily quiet save the sound of their breathing and a slithering noise every now and then… whose source he did not want to meet. He had not questioned her, fully trusting she knew her way out of the darkness, and that they were not walking into a trap.

It was not long before he could hear the distant rumbling of civilization, their footsteps slowing as they approached a streak of light at the end of their path. She told him to stay still, for her to check out their surroundings before she disappeared around a corner, leaving the man to himself, realizing after she left that it no longer felt cold.

She returned minutes later, hastily urging him to follow, sunlight greeting him as they exited the darkened cave, his eyes widening for a brief moment at the unbelievable sight before quickly moving after her, crunching into soil beneath his feet… Leaves were pushed aside as he ventured further, brushing through more vegetation as the screeching of nearby animals were heard. Trees stood strongly all around him, as green as his eyes could see. Even birds of different colors, not seen to the rest of the world, flew across the canopy.

Unbelievably so, they entered a forest.

A hidden oasis within the Tibetan mountains, Nanda Parbat.

**End.**

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><p><em>Do leave a review if you enjoyed (;<em>


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: After watching tonight's episode (s03e15) and seeing Nyssa tied and caged up by the Arrow team. I was torn between writing a mini series staring Mr. Queen, titled "50 Shades of Green," or a time traveling Flash story with tons of action, death and romance. The latter eventually won out. So if you're a fan of Flash, do check my newest story out! (: **

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><p><strong>Chapter: 5<strong>

It was like as if they stepped into a painting of lush greenness, its canvas seemingly covered with multitudes of gorgeous blossoming flowers, each mystical in their own way. It felt as though they walked into the side of an icy mountain and exited to a botanical garden of sorts. Yet he knew that they were still in the heart of the Tibetan mountains, a fact that made this land even more so impossible and magical. Cavern walls surrounded them from all corners, shooting towards the sky, illuminated by what seemed to be rays of sunlight filtered through the ceiling.

It was only then he realized that they were still inside the mountain. The ceiling coruscated brilliantly, almost as though it was shining… like… ice. It felt like they were inside a volcano, with the funnel's exit at the very top covered with a layer of transparent ice. One that shrouded the entire area around them with artificial sunlight.

A mythical cave… where the deadliest of assassins call home.

They kept themselves low to the ground, keeping their bodies as unexposed as possible, leaving nothing but the slightly ruffling of leaves as they headed towards the village. The cave soon grew darker as they closed in their destination, the fake sky above them started to lose its illumination as night crept steadily by.

"We need to find shelter soon," Nyssa stopped in her tracks, "the piece of ice above acts as a conductor, it channels the sunlight and illuminates the cavern, along with its warmth." A slight hint of uneasiness in her voice, "but as night falls, the cold returns. We must hurry, or they'll find our frozen bodies in the morning."

As she spoke those words, she was gone, leaving a trail of fluttering leaves as she ducked into the wall of green. He quickly followed in her direction, making sure not to leave too much of an obvious intrusion across the forest. It was not long before he understood her concerns. The trees around them started to turn white as each breath sent a misty wave of air in front of him. He tightened his coat in response as they eventually burst free of the enclosed forest, only to come upon what seemed to be a castle located in a circular space by the center of the jungle.

It looked like a page off a medieval book, a large stone building in the center of the clearing, with a dozen other smaller ones that surrounded it. It wasn't hard to guess which the league's base was. He could see dozens of tiny fires from where they stood, lighting up the growing darkness, notifying them of the villager's presence.

"Come," her voice was low as they crept towards the village, "there are lesser guards tonight due to my father's absence. Even so, we must remain hidden; the illusion of your death is our greatest strength."

He agreed with her statement, nodding as he lifted the coat's hood over his head, hiding his features as they entered the village's gate. He kept his head pointed towards the floor, trying not to draw any attention towards them as their feet quickly left the soil and snow behind, crunching against the hardened gravel. It was the first bit of civilization he had encountered in months. Hung lanterns illuminated the area with an eerie glare.

To his surprise, men and women of all ages walked by them, barely noticing the two as they crossed paths. It felt like as those he was in a functioning society, walking through the markets of a medieval castle. He noticed men leaning against the walls, with long blades kept to their sides, reminding him of the dangers that laid close by, yet at the same time women with basketful of groceries walked by them, bringing a hint of normality towards this strange place.

They stopped by a derelict alleyway, next to a door with a hanging sign that laid faded words that were no longer recognizable by the human eye. She knocked onto the door, three times as three equal knocks came in return from inside. "Stay here," she turned towards him, "the person in this store is able to produce medical herbs of the rarest properties. She is a friend, but there's no saying what she'll do if she learns of your presence. We must not take any unnecessary risks."

As the doors closed behind her, he leaned back against the opposite walls, sighing as brought his uninjured hand up to the side of his chest. It was starting to hurt again, while he had trained physically during his recovering, it was always done slow and with care. He grimaced in pain as he pressed into the side of his clothing, it felt damp. The journey seemed to have opened up his wounds once again.

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><p>"Hey."<p>

He froze at the approaching voice. A man dressed in black colored armor, assumeably a guard.

Did you not hear me? Hey!"

Oliver remained quiet, his posture unmoving, his drawn hood giving him the advantage of keeping his identity hidden. "All villager are supposed to be back in their homes by night fall, why are you here!?"

"Did you not hear what I just said? What are you-"

Slowly turning towards the approaching guard, Oliver extended his arm towards him, revealing the ball of snow in his palm. "Snowball fight?"

Watching the second of uncertainty and confusion ripple across the guard's face as he stopped in his tracks, it was all that Oliver needed to close the gap between them both. The ball of snow flew towards the man's face, shattering into to billions of tiny snowflakes as he stumbled backwards in surprise. The guard reached for his sheathed weapon, trying to draw it out but meeting the hooded man's boot halfway through. Using his momentum, Oliver kicked the blade back into the sheath, preventing the guard from drawing his weapon as his arm looped around the man's neck.

The inside of his arm pressed against the man's windpipe, keeping him in a locked hold as he began to tightly squeeze. The guard started to struggle, his body flailing as he tried to break free of the hold, his own elbow smashing against the side of Oliver's chest, the full blunt of it against his wound. His knees gave way beneath him, crumpling as pain exploded from his torn wound, blood seeped into the icy ground below.

The other man shook his face, trying to regain his balance, to get oxygen into his derived brain as he made his way over to his fallen opponent. With his eyes jammed shut from the agony, Oliver opened them only to see the guard's blade swinging down in his direction. Unable to defend himself nor move out of the way, his brain led to gradual instinct, his hand raising upwards futilely to shield himself from the sword.

The sound of metal surprised them both. Expecting the blade to tear through muscle and sinew, it was only then he realized that he was saved by his own metallic arm. Sparks flew as they crashed upon the other, allowing Oliver to quickly kick the man's leg out from beneath him, sending him falling into the snow as well. He then reached behind him, looking for anything he could possibly use as a weapon, before he noticed that he no longer needed to. The man fell onto his own blade, a crimson edge protruding out from his back.

He knew that their time frame just went down even further. Even if they do successfully hide the body, it would only be a matter of time before someone notices the missing guard.

**Fin**

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><p><em>Do leave a review if you enjoyed (;<em>**  
><strong>


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